The Ancient Task
by Averax
Summary: Tensions between horde and alliance rise for no reason. A young orc and a human are determined to get to the bottom of it. Chapter 2 up, please Rate and Review
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Warcraft or any of it's characters

A cool wind blew over the plains of the Arathi Highlands, winter was coming. Rickard Bren shivered and pulled his cloak tight. He was a short man, just a head taller than the average dwarf. His blue eyes showed no hint of anger, his posture suggested that he was very relaxed, and indeed he was. His skin looked to have a blue hue to it, but everyone said it was a light bending trick. Short golden hair spilled onto his forehead unchecked. Black pants, baggy because of his height, met thick black boots so that they blended together almost seamlessly. The black cloak he wore would have made him a menacing figure, if not for the bright red shirt that completed his outfit.

Closing his eyes, Rickard reflected on the events that necessitated his coming out to this place. Someone had screwed up. Now, the wrong people were asking the wrong questions.

From behind him he heard heavy footfalls. Turning, a tauren riding a black kodo came into view. He watched as the tauren dismounted and, with one hand, drew a triangle in the air with a line coming out of each point. "You're late." Said Rickard, for he spoke fluent tauren.

The tauren bowed his head. "Forgive me, I was held up by­–­"

"I do not care about your excuses." Interrupted Rickard, voice cold as ice. "What information do you have for me?"

"Thrall and Cairne are beginning to suspect something, but they pose no immediate threat. Sylvanas and Vol'jin are either oblivious or just don't care. The Burning Blade will be easy to manipulate, as will the Scarlet Crusade."

"And what is the general consensus among the horde of this new information?"

"Most do not believe it. The few that do pay it no mind."

"Good, perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing that Mizren betrayed us. I trust he has been executed?"

"Of course, sir."

"Excellent. Now, we need to increase the tension between the horde and the alliance. The king of the dwarves will not listen to us; he will have to be killed. When you feel the time is right, suggest a siege of Ironforge to Thrall. Until then, just lay low and gather information. You will be contacted if there is a change of plans that affects you. You're dismissed."

The tauren bowed. "Yes sir." He mounted and rode off. Rickard watched him go before creating a portal and stepping through.

Mikael stepped out onto the streets of Orgrimmar, dust stirring around his feet. He was a young orc, though he walked like one who had faced a thousand battles. With his dark hair tied back in a ponytail that hung to his lower back, dark green skin, and piercing eyes, Mikael was a fierce sight. He was dressed in brown leather wears, unlike most other fighters who dressed themselves in full armor. A shining great sword was strapped to his back, making passing citizens look on in wonder.

He walked toward the gates from the Valley of Honor, paying no mind to those passing him. The information he had recently acquired concerned him. A troll named Mizren had recently told Thrall about an organization trying to turn the horde and the alliance against each other. Mizren died the next day. Most believed the tale to be the ramblings of madness, and that was what Mikael didn't like. He knew that some groups were so adept at secrecy that they could be undetected in anything they did, even murder.

Mizren did mention a name, a tauren called Rin Bluehoof. Mikael knew of Rin, he was a close advisor to Thrall and Cairne, but he didn't stay in Orgrimmar or Thunderbluff. At times he would disappear for days, always resurfacing with information of alliance aggression in the Eastern Kingdoms. What bothered Mikael was that, with Mizren's information, the connection between Rin and the mysterious group was too obvious. He didn't like it when things were easy. There had to be something more, and he was intent on discovering what it was.

Gerald padded softly down the corridors of Northshire Abbey. He was an unremarkable man, nothing about him was special. He had no extraordinary talents or skills, he was of average height, and had short, dark hair. He was, however, always confident in his ability to do what needed to be done. That was part of the reason he became a priest. And now, with his flowing white robe trimmed with silver brushing the ground, he was going to be sent out to help those who needed it.

Pausing at a door, Gerald knocked. "Come in." Said a voice from inside, so Gerald did. The room was quite plain, a small bed on one side and several pictures on the opposite wall. Across from the door was a window, and in front of the window was a chair where the abbot now sat looking out at the abbey grounds.

The abbot paused a moment before speaking. "Gerald, you have been with us for ten years now. In that time you have been a remarkable student." He stood up, his white robe was trimmed with blue, and turned to Gerald. "But now it appears you will be leaving us."

Gerald was shocked. "Father?"

"A message was sent to me yesterday, requesting your presence at Stormwind. The signature at the bottom was none other than Archbishop Benedictus. This is a request we can't ignore, so, my son, you are to leave as soon as you are ready. Stormwind is not far from here, but stay on the roads, the Defias hunt the woods for travelers. You will also need this" he walked to his bed, and from under it produced a robe, like the one he and Gerald were wearing, but trimmed with gold. "Put this on, as of this day you are no longer a student, but a brother in our order. Now go, make Lord Benedictus as proud of you as I am." With that, he walked passed a stunned Gerald and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Many questions buzzed in Gerald's mind as he changed into the robes. The most prevalent was _why_? Why would the Archbishop summon him? A mere neophyte, despite having trained for ten years, there were others with so much more experience than he could ever hope to have.

His journey to Stormwind, a relatively short walk any other time, seemed to take hours on this day. For he knew he wouldn't be returning to the abbey for some time. Nothing stirred in the forest along his way, aside from the occasional guard or wandering merchant from Goldshire.

When he finally reached the Cathedral of Light, his legs felt weary, as if he had just walked thrice the distance he had. His heard pounded against his chest as he ascended the steps, as if ascending to heaven. And inside, he saw the one that he sought. Archbishop Benedictus stood there, at the end of the hall, watching him. Gerald walked slowly toward him, the living vessel of his faith. When he was within arm's length of the Archbishop, he dropped to one knee.

Benedictus laughed. "Arise young one, you needn't kneel to me." Gerald slowly stood up, almost not daring to look the Archbishop in the face. "The abbot of Northshire has told me quite a lot about you, Gerald. He calls you his most promising acolyte." Gerald finally looked at the Archbishop's face. He looked stern, as battle hardened warriors often do, but his eyes were kind. He smiled. "I believe you have become a son to him." Gerald felt himself grin; the abbot _had_ been like a father to him.

"Now, you must be wondering why I summoned you. Gerald, I need your help. Something foul is afoot, and I want to know what it is." He began walking down one of the side halls, beckoning Gerald after him. "Come, I will explain in my quarters."


	2. Chapter 2

Rickard sat at a long oak table, within a large stone room. White orbs floated near the ceiling, lighting and heating the room the room. He sat with his head perched on this fist, staring idly at an image of the Eastern Kingdoms that floated before him. With a wave of his free hand he dismissed the image. It was replaced by an image of Kalimdor. On a whim he zoomed in on Orgrimmar and the mountains to the north and smiled. 

The door opposite him opened and he dismissed the image quickly. A broad shouldered human entered and promptly kneeled. "You summoned me?"

Rickard surveyed him for a moment. Brilliant blond hair made a stark contrast to his almost black eyes. Two swords were crossed on his back, so that a hilt showed over each shoulder. Loose fitting brown and black clothing allowed him to blend in with the shadows of an Inn wall, where he most often did his work. "I have a task for you. One unlike anything you've ever done before." Rickard smiled.

The newcomer stood up. "Yes, sir?"

Rickard did not rise. "Spade, I am going to give you a task that many would give their lives for. I require some . . . items."

"And those are?"

Rickard smiled. "The blood of an Elven Druid, the blood of a green dragon, and a branch from the world tree. Take these." A leather bag floated up from next to Rickard's chair. Spade watched this with ill disguised amazement. He had heard about Rickard's power, power that no other living being possessed, but he had never seen them in action. The bag floated over to him. Inside were two glass vials, a black wooden case, a gold coin about the size of his eye, and a dagger. "The vials are for the blood, they have been enchanted to stop time from affecting their contents. The same goes for the box. The coin, when held, creates a field that will stop sound. Sound can enter, but can't escape. And the dagger will kill a dragon; all you have to do is pierce its hide. That is all you should need."

Spade was silent for a moment. "I understand. I shall not disappoint you." With a bow, he left.

Rickard sat for a moment, thinking. Then he got up, pulled a letter out of his pocket, and went to the door. Opening it, he gave the letter to one of the guards. "See that this gets to Faranell." The guard nodded and walked away.

* * *

Mikael sat on the outskirts of Thunder Bluff, holding a sealed letter. He had gone looking for Rin Bluehoof, but only found an empty tent. Nothing of interest, or so he thought. Partially hidden under a pot was the letter he now held in his hand. There was no writing on it. No mark aside from a strange triangular symbol on the corner. That was what had caught his eye, the fact that the symbol was in gold. 

Turning it over, he opened it and read.

_After you read this, destroy it. You are to leave your position as Cairne's advisor. Instead, ingratiate yourself with Magatha Grimtotem. She will prove to be most useful if Thrall continues to stick his nose where it doesn't belong. Advise Thrall that a siege on Ironforge is a bad idea, that it would likely end in the destruction of the horde, and that an unprovoked attack would dishonor the horde. That should keep him from giving it any further consideration._

_In three days you must travel to the Undercity and meet with the Master Apothecary Faranell. He will give you two vials of a powerful poison. Keep one and deliver the other to me. Save the one you keep in a safe place, for you will need to use it soon. Leave the other vial near the lake in Witherbark Village._

_Finally, you must ensure that all rumors of Mizren's death and the information he gave Thrall are quashed. No one can be allowed to know of us. I presume I needn't remind you of the price of failure._

The note was no help. It explained nothing, and created hundreds of new questions. Why Magatha? More importantly, what was the poison for? That was a question he could answer. If Rin never got the note, than he couldn't pick up the poison. And chances were that Faranell didn't know who would be receiving it. Mikael would pick it up himself.

* * *

"Listen closely to what I am about to tell you." Benedictus said once he and Gerald were in his private quarters. "Recently, I have acquired information linked to the disappearance of King Varian Wrynn." Gerald's eyes widened. "Until now, we believed his kidnapping to be the work of the Defias, but our new evidence suggests that it was far more than just the brotherhood." 

"But, who, if not the Defias, would do such a thing?" Asked Gerald.

"That's what we want to know. Unfortunately, I can not show you the evidence, as it is currently in the process of being examined. But I know for a fact that connections can be made to more than ten groups around the world. Including the Defias and the Twilight's Hammer. These are groups that we know to be hostile. The problem is that there are also references to members of the alliance. Such as Lady Prestor."

"But, she's an advisor to the King!"

"Yes, and that's what disturbs me. I always had some misgivings about her being so close to the king, but if this is true, all of Stormwind could be in danger."

"How do you figure?"

"If she had a hand in the kidnapping of the king, what else has she been doing? I'll watch her, you have more important business."

"And what would that be?" Asked Gerald.

"I want you to do some exploring for me. We have information, I can't say how we got it, but we know that there is an area to the west of Gnomeregan had something to do with the kidnapping. Go and search the mountains in that area." He pulled a note from a pocket of his robes. "Take this and give it to Gryth Thurden, the gryphon master of Ironforge. He'll take you up personally to scout the area. Take no action. Find out what's there and return to me. Understood?" Benedictus fixed him with a stern stare. Gerald nodded innocently. "Good, than you may leave. May the light protect you."

Gerald bowed and turned to go, then looked back at the Archbishop. "If I may ask, why did you choose me to do this?"

Benedictus smiled. "Because your abbot spoke so highly of you. He has complete faith in your abilities, and so do I."

Gerald looked at him a moment before leaving. Turning, he fixed his thoughts on the task set before him. It was night now, so he would have some time to rest when he got to Ironforge. Time to contemplate what to do when he found what he was looking for. He wouldn't let the abbot or Benedictus down.


End file.
